I thought I’d revisit my blog and knock some dust off of it. : ) I’ve discovered some interesting new authors lately, like Stacia Kane and her ghosts. Pretty cool lead character. I love my romances, of course, but am often pleasantly surprised by gambling on an unknown series.
I’d like to delve into some Urban Fantasy and am looking for suggestions. Yours would be welcome!
Yes, *coughs and chokes on the dust* about time you came back!
OK, recommends … Have you read The Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare, The Morganville Vampires by Rachel Caine – both series are great.
One that has been recommended to me and I received the books for Christmas is The Parasol Protectorate series by Gail Carriger.
Or, you could always read Whisper of a Witch by Suza Kates
Is this urban enough, or is it just urbane?
“Alexis, the Great” ;-}
Alex was a girl. Okay, her name was Alexis, but nobody dared call her that, not since her father had disappeared. She didn’t act much like a girl, anymore, either, so it seemed natural to call her Alex. She’d given up dresses, makeup and dating at the same time she’d given up her name; she wore heavy pants and pocket shirts with the sleeves ripped off, most of the time. Black, of course: Everything she wore was black. she wore a black ball cap over her dyed-black hair, to match her eyeliner and fingernails. Like her heart, empty and abandoned, left alone in a town full of strangers, to wither unloved, un-cared for, desolate.
Alex hated Chitins, hated pirates, hated stupid, lazy engineers. Anything that might have caused the disappearance of her father’s ship just weeks before her fourteenth birthday, was subject to being hated.
Alex’s mother had disappeared long ago, in a more mundane way: Divorce. “Mother” had found a man who was willing to stay on Earth, mow the lawn, fix the plumbing, and watch the newest episode of “The Grumby’s” with her. An accountant, for crap’s sake; a BEAN-COUNTER! The kind of guy who couldn’t wipe his ass without entering the price of his used toilet paper in a ledger.
Dad was a hero. He knew everything, from the color of Neptune to the speed of sound in the Moon’s crust. He could set up a colony on Mars, single-handed, and build a video station from scrap parts. He could fix the family flivver with hair spray and boot laces–and had. Dad knew what his little girl needed when her knees were skinned or her heart was broken. Dad would always take care of his little girl. He’d promised he would! He’d promised!
Dad was supposed to be there for her first prom. He’d promised that, too. His ship was due back two weeks before the prom, plenty of time for delays. But it didn’t come back. Not for the prom, not for the new school year, not for Christmas, or birthdays… Not a word.
Damned Chitins.
#
The kid mashed the trigger repeatedly, slapped buttons, and cursed. “Fire, dammit, fire, you weeny bastard! Blow the f***ers up!” he cursed. Behind him, a couple of boys who looked about his age snickered.
“What! What’s your f***ing problem, twerps?” the kid turned on the boys. His black hair was shoved up under a black ball cap, black shirt tucked tightly into black canvas pants. His heavy boots thumped on the deck as he stood up from the simulator angrily. No: HER boots. Seeing her face, the boys recognized their mistake, at least, the one regarding her gender. One of them muttered a denial and left; the other stood his ground long enough to apologize.
“Sorry,” he said. “We just aren’t used to hearing kids talk like that here.”
The girl in black harrumphed, and after a moment, she sat back down, returning to the simulation.
“Damned thing only shoots once,” she muttered. “After that, it’s like swatting the wind!”
“My name’s Joey,” the boy offered. “Can I show you what’s wrong?”
“Alex,” she replied, “call me Alex. And yeah, show me, before I break something!”
“Let the lasers charge up between shots,” Joey told her. “Hear that whine?” He placed his hand over hers on the joystick and squeezed off a couple of shots to demonstrate. “It builds to its highest pitch when the lasers’ accumulators are charged up; that’s when the lasers will be the most powerful. If you make them fire too fast, they won’t be strong enough to do any damage.”
Guiding her to another target, he indicated the cross hair on the display. “The active reticule will turn yellow when it’s 100% charged, but you don’t want to wait that long: It takes ten times as long to charge the last 2% as it does to charge to 98%, and 98% of full power is good enough for ‘most any Chitin target. Listen to the whine; you’ll get to know when to fire by feel, almost. There’s an indicator bar on the side, here, too; but that’s just a distraction. Use the accumulator whine.”
She looked at him oddly. “You sure don’t talk like a kid,” she observed. “Where’d you learn all those words?”
He reached into his puterkit and pulled out a 2cm minidisc. “Here, take this,” he said. “It’s a copy of the fighter’s manual. It’s got all the terminology, some history, and lots of tips on effective fighting. Those words are right on the advert!” he grinned.
“Thanks!” Alex grinned back, tentatively. She reached out to take the disc, and then reached again to shake Joey’s hand. “Thanks, Joey. That’s just what I need.”
Joey blushed. “‘Snothing,” he protested.
#
Alex’s first real combat flight was a nightmare. A nightmare for her enemies, her classmates, and the veterans that were assigned to lead her class. For Alex, it was vindication. No more would they call her “darling,” or “little lady,” no more would Bobby offer to show her how “a real man” does it, no more would they think she couldn’t be tough enough for the job.
When the Chitin fleet first appeared on her scanner, she felt a twinge of apprehension. This was no game, no simulation: This was The Real Thing. But then she remembered why she was here, why she’d come all this way, and she realized in a different way, that this was no game, no simulation: This is The Real Thing! These were the creatures that were believed to have killed her father, that took him away from her. They took away the only family she ever cared for. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered her Da, the man that fixed her tricycle, the man that brought her a puppy when she was five, that built her a treehouse when she was seven, that attended her ballet recitals, that held her hand while she waited in the hospital emergency room. They ruined her prom, her family, her LIFE!
Suddenly, she saw the enemy fleet as a macabre ballet. Her mind choreographed a routine for them, knowing they would play their parts well, because she would dance around them all. She saw her ship twirling, swooping, pirouetting… As she danced gracefully amongst the Chitins, they left the stage… In two’s and three’s they exited, stage left, stage right, over the lights, into the rafters… A touch of the hands here, a tap of her toes on that one’s smug face, a slap of the fingertips, a rare spiteful punch in the gut reserved for the enemy prima dona… What? Have they all gone? Is there no one else to dance with me? Are there any dancers hiding amongst the audience? No? Well, then!
Finding no targets, her hands shaking on the controls, Alex realized that she was out of missiles, her lasers were hot, and the squadron leader was cursing on the comm.
Well, he had been, but now the unit was quiet. She keyed her mike. “Can we go home now?” she asked plaintively. “I’m out of missiles.”
“You son of a… you wh… s**t! you f…” Red Leader sputtered. “Crap! Let’s go home, guys! She didn’t leave us anything else to do!”
Nobody said anything on the way back to base.
#
In the briefing room, there were whispers and mutters; none of the customary banter and bragging. Alex sat quietly in the back of the room. When the instructor came in, he glanced around briefly before looking at his pad.
“Well, let’s see what we did today,” he said ebulliently. “Two carriers, and thirty-eight fighters… Who got the carriers?”
Silence met his question. After a moment, he repeated it. “Who got the carriers?”
A dull voice from the back of the room said simply, “I did.”
The instructor took another look at his pad. “Interesting… I see… And the thirty-eight fighters? Stephen, how many did you get?”
“None, sir,” came the reply. “None of us did, sir, except her.” Stephen flipped a thumb over his shoulder, with a nervous glance to the back of the room.
“Ah-hah, I see,” the instructor leaned back on the desk behind him and crossed his arms, tucking his pad under his left elbow. “So, did anyone else score a hit? On anything? Anybody?”
Jonathan tentatively raised a hand. “I shot at one, sir, but I think it exploded before I actually pulled the trigger,” he winced.
“Well then, I guess we’re done,” the instructor said. “Everyone check the boards for your new assignments in two hours. Dismissed.”
#
“Sir, she left formation without orders! She–”
“Lieutenant, she destroyed an entire Chitin fleet single-handed, before your veterans even engaged them. Her orders did not forbid it.”
“But sir, she flew right into the MIDDLE of their fleet! We couldn’t–”
“Enough, Lieutenant. Objection noted. We NEED that kind of skill. Lieutenant, I’m assigning your squadron to be her escort and back up. We’re going to see if your people can learn how to do what she did. I don’t care if you all have to take ballet; if that’s what she says she did, I want YOU to do it, too. Dismissed.”
Yes. I need a cleaning lady just for my blog! I’ve seen the parasol books before, so I might give them a try. I understand there are Steampunk elements as well. Thanks!
Thanks, Michael. Nice read!